Hamsalekha: The zany maestro

Hamsalekha, who just received the BIFFes lifetime achievement award, energised Kannada film songs with his irreverence and swag, writes S R Ramakrishna.

Hamsalekha, honoured with a lifetime achievement award at the just concluded Bengaluru International Film Festival, brought the brash exuberance of street art to Kannada film songs.

Before his arrival as a full-fledged lyricist, Chi Udayashankar dominated the industry. Long associated with Rajkumar productions, Udayashankar had written the biggest hits in Kannada cinema. He had an easy style–he skipped words with heavy stress and his phrases fell pleasantly on the ear (naanu neenu/haalu jenu), he drew ideas from the best of Kannada poetry (‘Maamaravello kogileyello’ echoed an Akka Mahadevi vachana), and listeners could effortlessly recall his lines.

Hamsalekha, who not only wrote lyrics but also made tunes for them, broke away from that tradition. His songs for ‘Premaloka’ (1987) defied all song-writing conventions popular in Kannada cinema till then. The heroine was introduced with ‘Hello my lovely lady,’ a witty campus song that doffed its hat at Kalidasa’s Sakuntalam. It broke away from the gently formal tone of earlier film songs, and  celebrated a youthful, irreverent style. Hamsalekha was unapologetic about his quirky rhymes (Gangoo/baiku kalisikodu nangoo), risque innuendos and eccentric metaphors (nimbehanninatha hudugi — girl like a lemon). Lahari Velu, whose label Lahari Music had acquired audio rights, says ‘Premaloka’ sold a mindboggling 36 lakh cassettes, becoming the highest selling album for all of India that season. Many of the legendary Kannada film music composers were active when Hamsalekha made his debut, but with one hit, he had carved out a niche that was uniquely his own.

‘Premaloka’ was intended as a launch pad for V Ravichandran, whose father N Veeraswamy had produced big hits like Rajkumar’s ‘Naa Ninna Mareyalaare’ (1976) and Vishnuvardhan’s ‘Naagarahaavu’ (1972). Inspired by the Hollywood musical ‘Grease 2’, ‘Premaloka’, with 12 numbers, didn’t care much for a storyline — all it wanted was to get its characters to sing and dance. The songs caught on like wildfire the moment they appeared on Doordarshan. Not only were they a feast for the eyes, but they were also fun to listen to. Word of mouth had turned the tide in favour of Ravichandran, the hero of the film who had also directed it.

‘Premaloka’ catapulted both Ravichandran and Hamsalekha to stardom. Their partnership continued for two decades, and they delivered blockbusters such as ‘Ranadheera’ (1988), Anjada Gandu (1988), and ‘Ramachari’ (1991). The super ambitious ‘Shanti Kranti’ (1991) flopped. All through the ‘90s, their songs played on the radio, and their albums were eagerly anticipated. The two drifted away eventually, with Ravichandran making his own music. Lahari released an unprecedented 221 film albums, all with one songwriter and composer–Hamsalekha.

Four decades on, Hamsalekha is credited with writing and making tunes for about 3,500 songs, and they include many sentimental numbers. As he ruled the airwaves, he wrote more emotional songs, proving that his talent wasn’t confined to boisterous numbers. And it wasn’t just commercial success. D R Nagaraj, the critic who was often cutting about big names in Kannada literature, and B V Karanth, the theatre guru who was critical of populist art, had words of appreciation for Hamsalekha. What they liked particularly was how he was bringing folk idioms, sarcasm, and college humour into film songs.

Hamsalekha has created music for about 500 albums, some of them private ones. A regular member of his hit factory was the singer S P Balasubramanyam, whose portrait gets pride of place in his studio. He has worked with almost all well-known singers in the film industry; he also roped in the classical maestro Balamuralikrishna to record one of his songs (‘Devaru hoseda premada daara’). His song in the Rajkumar film ‘Akasmika’ (1993) has endured — ‘Huttidare Kannada naadal huttabeku’ is almost as popular as the state anthem.

Folk inspiration

Hamsalekha’s father Govindaraju ran a printing press in Chickpet, and he was friends with many Kannada lavani (ballad) singers. Lavani Neelakantappa was a wandering balladeer who occasionally dropped by, and liked what Hamsalekha was writing. He mentored the teen poet and gifted him a Swan pen. Hamsalekha adapted his pseudonym from it — he signed off as Hamsalekhani on a play he had written. Krishna Sa, his teacher at school, advised him to knock off the ‘ni’, and that is how he became Hamsalekha.

Folk poetry and folk music have remained an enduring passion for Hamsalekha. He holds an MA in folklore studies from Mysore University. Desi College of Music, which he runs from his house in Basaveshwarnagar in Bengaluru, offers undergraduate courses in music — the syllabus covers Hindustani, Karnatik, folk, and Western styles. The classes teach, among other things, ragas, folklore and film scoring techniques. 

In recent years, Hamsalekha has been working on crafting music terminology in Kannada. He has coined new words — for example, hintala (before beat), muntala (after beat) and chintala (on beat, also gold beat). His inventiveness is not confined to lyrics alone. At 74, Hamsalekha is preparing for his directorial debut, a musical drama titled OK. Not many music composers in Indian cinema write lyrics. On that score alone, Hamsalekha stands tall, and his discography remains an unmatched feat. Later lyricists like Yogaraj Bhat are carrying forward his experiments in wit and irreverence. The lifetime achievement is a richly deserved acknowledgement of a career marked by audacious landmarks.

Compositor to composer

Born Gangaraju on June 23, 1951, in Mysuru, Hamsalekha toiled as a compositor in the family press in his younger days. His job was to set type. In more recent years, he has been a presence on TV reality shows, judging young talent.